To have “a group of our own”

A more fundamental challenge resulting from their diaspora journey worthy of notice was being severed from the social cultural systems that they had been familiar with and established in, along with the deprivation of the social orders to differentiate and interrelate them as social beings. As understood by S. Wei, a key informant of my study, who had been a professor (as well as had been her husband) at one of the most distinguished universities in China:

You had multiple status and social position as well as huge networks in China. People knew who you were; but here, you know nobody. Also, nobody knows you, who you are, what you do, and they don’t care...

Indeed, the uprootedness from the Chinese society composed of a myriad of hierarchies and social ties resulted in their “liminality” (Turner, 1969), or, their loss of the “classifications that normally locate states and positions”. This disrupted their identities as social and cultural beings. In fact, anxiety about not being able to identify themselves and an eagerness to do so are prevalent with the diasporic subjects in my study, in latent or noticeable ways. They wanted to be “known” and to be “cared about”, through which they could identify themselves not only as “some Chinese”, but also “the Chinese so and so”. The ambiguity of “we-ness” and “I-ness” constantly arose and needed to be addressed in their daily practice.

Chinese society is characterized by a web of social relations (guanxi) intricately interwoven by obligatory indebtedness (renqing) and mutual favors (mianzi) (Hwang, 1997). In the Chinese system, social relationships are predestined by extended family ties such as kinship and affinity, as well as socially constructed through alumni connections, occupational connections, and so forth (Gold, et al, 2002). In light of this, the Chinese in the education diaspora, who mostly came with their nuclear family, were deprived of the preordained social relations and could only reconstruct social relations through

interpersonal interaction. Therefore, creation of a public space for such interactions became highly imperative.

Being in the diaspora also means the upheaval of ingrained cultural values and ideologies. With the tremendous influence of deep-rooted collectivism that was formed in revolutionary times and enormously strengthened through communist media and education system, the “Chinese nationality” embraced patriotism and loyalty to the nation, and a dedicated submission to the regime. But in the diaspora, China as a “nation” and the socialist regime no longer applied to them. What remained with them, as was disclosed by the participants, were complicated emotions about China, “we feel connected to the cultural roots, the land where we grew up, the people that we care about, and the memories; but not the Communist Party, the Chinese government or the Socialist regime”, according to Y. Tang. The nation-state framework that has dominated diaspora scholarship is inadequate in interpreting the diasporic identities, because the “nation” of China dissolves with their uprootedness. Likewise, the imbued collective identity of “Chinese nationality” (zhong hua min zu) on the basis of the same regime, social system, and cultural values becomes greatly disturbed and controversial. In this regard, China is not so much a geographic place or the corresponding nationality, but more of a cultural heritage and influence from which they draw resources for reconstructing their identities. Their nostalgia, arguably, stems not from an ingrained loyalty to the distant homeland, but from individual connections with their cultural roots and past memories, such as foods from their hometown, Chinese music, and the dynamics of interaction that they are accustomed to.

As prominent as the entrenched collectivism in Chinese society was an atheistic ideology, which had been imposed by the rulers in Chinese history and steadfastly ingrained by the Communist authorities. After coming to the United States with its prevailing Christian influence and practice, some Chinese converted to Christianity and found spiritual comfort and belongingness through religious practice and involvement in Christian communities.

But a majority of them remained atheists. In my fieldwork and pre-fieldwork, it appeared to me that the Chinese Christian communities were more prevalent in outer suburban areas, while the metropolitan areas seemed to be more populated with non-Christians, and the secular voluntary associations were more popular with city dwellers. Somehow, there seemed to be little interaction between the Christian Chinese community and the non- Christian Chinese community. Nonetheless, having a collective life and forming a community were evidently significant to the diasporic Chinese, and were repeatedly mentioned when they accounted for their everyday practice. The significance of church to Christians was mentioned by many respondents as analogous to the meaning of voluntary associations to them. As summarized by H. Yao, who was one of the founding members of CC:

It is very important for us to have a spiritual pursuit. We’re not Christians and we don’t go to church, so it (CC) is important for us. As Chinese, we need collectivism; we need a group that we feel we belong to.

To reduce solitude and isolation, the early members of the education diaspora sought to join some local Taiwanese voluntary associations such as singing and dance groups. Attracted to groups having the same language (mandarin) and a shared cultural heritage, however they underestimated the distinctions resulting from the different paths of the two societies in contemporary history and the long-lasting segregation policies of the two regimes. Also, a majority of the Taiwanese came to the diaspora many years earlier and were much older than they were. For many, participation in the Taiwanese groups did not bring the belongingness that they anticipated, but instead, they felt strongly excluded. In the interviews, L. Chang and H. Yao described their experience of being in the Taiwanese chorus:

In the Taiwanese group, I barely had empathy with them, because of the distinct cultural backgrounds and age gap… There was little common language between us. (L. Chang)

Their singing style was quite different from ours, and they were disgusted with my sharp high voice. Because I couldn’t sing what I wanted to sing, I quit the group very unhappily. Then my husband suggested, “Why don’t we just start a group of our own?” (H. Yao)

After they left the Taiwanese chorus, they started CC, “their own group”. Before long, a “CC” series of associations was started, including a children’s chorus, a Chinese school, a dance theater, a professional and engineering association, a book club, and a monthly newsletter, to meet the basic needs of their social lives. Literally, “CC” meant “Chinese residing in the Midwestern state”. As the earliest diasporic associations of mainlanders, the “CC” series of associations had cradled and witnessed the formation and growth of the mainlanders’ community. A review of CC rosters over the years shows that most “active players” in the Chinese community at the present time had been involved in CC for a longer or shorter period of time. Many of them started other associations after they left CC, some of them still maintained strong personal or institutional connections with CC. The intricate interrelatedness between CC and other associations caused it to be deeply embedded in the ever-growing Chinese community. This provided a valuable perspective for my fieldwork, but also made it more challenging. When I designed my study at the beginning, I intended to focus on CC only, as I was concerned about the “boundaries” of the study; but as my investigation went deeper, I found it impossible to do so. In some sense, the Chinese community without CC would be incomplete; a study of CC without the Chinese community would be like planting a plant without the soil. For most CC participants, engaging in such a group seemed intrinsic to their diasporic experience, as they did not think themselves likely to be engaged had they not been in the diaspora, as was shared by S. Wei in an interview:

I remember before we came to the US, people asked if we were interested in joining a choir. But we were quite occupied then, had to take care of our kid, career, etc. And we thought all those (leisure activities) were a waste of time. We didn’t have that free time. In those days, people all focused on career and children. Children are a big hope, thus we ignored leisure and hobbies. But when we came abroad it became different, because we didn’t have many social activities, unlike in China, where you would have endless meetings to attend.

When CC was first started, it had only a few more than ten members. But as the only mainlander’s social and singing club, it gradually gained popularity and became well- known in the community. People gathered on weekends to sing Chinese songs and to

make friends with other mainlanders. It also served as a platform for people to exchange information and share concerns and experience about status, parenting, housing and so forth, as they strove to settle down. The buoyant atmosphere of CC gained it a nickname of “party group” from its members, indicating it was a casual, self-entertaining, fun- making social group, which was especially noticeable during its early years. As recalled by H. Yao, the founding president, in the interview:

At the beginning, our idea was simple, just to create a place for people to sing Chinese songs and to get together for fun, like a big “party”…We didn’t care much about music. We didn’t do much four-part chorus singing, but more unison. It (CC) was very self-entertaining, being happy was the point… people either came to sing, or came to “party”…

Positioning CC as a “party group” appeared to have been unanimous among its members. Even in later years, after CC shifted its focus to APC, whether and how to maintain it as a “party group” while emphasizing APC was a recurrent discussion among its members. When people talked about CC as a “party group”, they actually used the English word “party”. It was intriguing to see that they picked up that word as well as the value of “having fun” from American culture, and made it an integral part of their diasporic life and social practice. This is especially compelling when compared to the historical context of the conventional collectivist Chinese society, because “party” rarely appeared in the public discourse in China at that time, and only gained popularity in recent years under the impact of western consumerism and popular culture, which gradually replaced the pandemic solemnity formed during the Cultural Revolution.

In fact, quite a few CC members admitted that they were neither good at singing nor really fond of singing. W. Bing, for example, who called himself a “terrible singer and never in tune”, had been a very dedicated participant of CC for years. A few members joined CC because of their spouses, as they found it a good way to develop common hobbies and spend time with them. Several male members said that they began to be involved in the group as drivers for their wives, and “came to sing by chance”. Family, from a sociological perspective, is a semi-private and semi-public domain, and it plays a key role in bridging the diasporic Chinese individuals with the public. In most cases, a

friend of an individual diasporic Chinese person was most often a friend of that person’s family, or in other words, the diasporic Chinese made more family friends than personal friends. This well illustrated the centrality of house parties for the subjects’ further reciprocal interactions beyond the group settings, and showed how private domains (families) were linked to public domains (voluntary associations) through the intersubjective practices embedded in their daily lives.

In my interviews, multiple CC members recalled the early group dynamics as “a pure and joyful group”, people “all knew each other very well”; they were “very united”, and had “strong emotional ties and remarkable closeness”. In a word, it was a “highly cohesive group”. The unity and sharedness was well illustrated by F. Xiao, using a proverb: “Birds of a feather flock together”. Such closeness in the early years was treasured by a few old members, as was depicted in a poem written by S. Wei, which was published in local Chinese newspapers:

Deep in my heart, lies this sweet “home”. Here assemble fellows all from China, For singing, sisters and brothers convene. Every weekend, we’re eager to go to the place full of joy and laughter…